Page 17 of Love and Death (Tempting the Fates #4)

HAZEL

I t’s been hours since Florence left to search the palace, though she’d insisted on getting me a plate of food first ... making me promise to eat.

I had, in all honesty, tried, but I could not force down more than a few mouthfuls of the roasted squash and honeyed bread she’d served me. They’d turned to ash in my mouth, each bite a painful reminder that I can still hunger even in a world without Death.

If he were here, he would insist that I finish every morsel and yet refuse to partake of any himself, satisfied just to watch me eat my fill.

Unless, of course, I asked.

I squish my finger into the now sodden bread, pressing it flat with a satisfying squelch.

A thick drop of honey trails down my finger as I lift it before me, watching as it leaves a trail of gold upon my skin before dripping back onto the plate.

I let the stickiness of it wear on me for a moment longer before wiping my finger off on a napkin and pushing myself up onto my feet .

Exhaustion pulls at me, but I cannot bring myself to close my eyes, let alone to sleep, as I anxiously await her return.

I’d insisted she take the keys with her to quicken her search of the palace, but now I find myself locked in a tower room with nothing to do but pace the floor and pray that she returns unharmed … and preferably, before I have to explain the locked door and her absence to Cerberus.

Coming to a standstill before the large bedroom window, I stare out at the strange night sky beyond. Star-like flecks of light twinkle amidst the dark swirl of colors, fighting to shine even as the mists engulf them time and again.

My stomach churns, but I do not look away, and I find myself wishing I could jump out and join them in their eternal dance.

To join Death, wherever that might be.

I absentmindedly trace the outline of the sheathed dagger, now strapped firmly against my thigh, and wonder if perhaps he did not mean for me to use it on Cerberus or any of the gods … but on myself.

Perhaps, this blade was Death’s way of giving me another choice. A means of choosing my own fate, should the time come.

The thought has barely crossed my mind before something stops me from entertaining it a moment longer—some small voice bubbles up within to remind me that even Death would only ever wish life upon me.

Dropping my hand from the barely concealed weapon, I begin to pace the room again .

Besides, I cannot make that choice.

I still have too much to lose. I have to try to save Father and, if possible, reclaim Death’s body from Hades before he can do the unthinkable to it.

The least Death deserves now, is honor.

The night grows darker, and my worries with it. The silence stretches on, only the rhythmic pad of my soles and the gentle trickle of water from the other room disturbing it.

What could be taking them so long?

With each passing step, my imagination runs wilder with fear and exhaustion. I try not to look at the bed, its allure growing, even as anxiety floods my veins, as if to mock me.

How can I even think of sleep when I do not even know if Father is alive?

This stops me in my tracks.

Maybe that’s why no one has returned yet.

Because he is dead, and if this fate mark that I’ve been given has its way, in a few days’ time, I will be as well.

I sink to the floor, pulling my knees to my chest, and press the heels of my hands into my eyes until the darkness gives way to wild bursts of color.

Why then, shouldn’t I end my suffering now? What reason do I have to keep going, to keep surviving, when all that I have ever loved is already lost?

Even if Father isn’t dead. Even if I am able to save his soul and escape the Underworld, would I want to continue existing if it meant doing so without Death?

No, of one thing I am certain …

A life without Death is one I do not wish to live.

I’d rather join him in nothingness than spend an eternity without him. At least then we would be together, our souls finally bound forever, however unknowingly, in a shared fate.

I fight to push these thoughts away, but fail.

A hot tear finds its way down my cheek, and I hurry to brush it away before it can summon more. I know I swore not to think like this, to wallow in self-pity, but I can’t seem to help it.

My thoughts feel like madness, and I want nothing more than to escape them.

I reach up to touch the mark on my neck before I can think better of it. My fingers brush over the raised flesh, and a tingling sensation spreads like wildfire throughout my body before quickly turning into excruciating pain.

I crumple, my lungs straining as I collapse sideways, and I am left gasping for air in a matter of seconds. I ride the rolling swell of pain as it intensifies, bringing me closer and closer to the edge of consciousness.

Enough, little one.

His voice rings out as clear as day, startling me enough that my hand drops from my neck. The pain slowly ebbs with each heaving breath as I steel myself to glance around the room.

“Death?” I whisper, a sob choking the sound of his name from my lips.

There is only silence in response .

The room is empty, his voice nothing but a desperate hallucination of my mind. A simple bid to save me from myself.

Pushing myself back into a sitting position, I take a deep, shuddering breath. Though the physical pain has more or less subsided, my heart remains heavy, and I cannot help but wish to hear Death’s voice again.

I would suffer any amount of pain a thousand times over, if it would give me but a moment more with him … whether real or imagined.

I close my eyes and try to clear my mind, but these thoughts—these desires—are like a whirlpool threatening to pull me under the harder I struggle against them. Reaching to pull my knees to my chest, my fingers graze the lines of the hidden dagger.

His dagger.

Suddenly, in the midst of my despair, a flicker of determination ignites within me, and I am able to step onto solid ground once again.

Enough .

I am stronger than this. It would break Death’s heart to see me like this. He would want me to fight, and to keep fighting, until there is nothing left to fight for.

I cannot give up, not yet. Not until all is lost.

If there is a way for me to defy fate, however slim my chances may be, I must find it.

Death is a last resort, and it must remain so.

New found hope rising within me, I pull myself up off the floor and finally make my way over to the bed. There’s a soft crinkle as I settle on it, and I quickly lean over to take my father’s … Cyprian’s book out from between the mattresses.

It opens to the torn-out page, and my eyes widen as I am thrown back to the last few moments before the trial.

The note.

It dawns on me that I haven’t seen it since the arena.

I don’t even remember dropping it.

My heart sinks over the loss of the drawing, not to mention everything that note had meant. It had been a parting gift from Death, a declaration of truth, and yet … it had been written in Cyprian’s own hand.

Which could only mean—my heart pounds in my chest— that he’s dead.